Underwear: the JOY of Public Relations
by inkImpressions
Summary: Marcus has a few issues, and really needs a great Public Relations Guru. Quirks, silliness, and a little romance. It's going to be interesting.Rated M for possible lemons and limes. HG/MF


Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling all recognizable characters belong to her amazing imagination. I just dabbled out the plot.

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**A/N: To KaTeRiNa MaLfOy, this is your one shot finally. I really hope you enjoy. Hermione and Marcus ,a romance and hopefully a little bit of brain distressing comedy. ENJOY!**

**OH, AND AS AN EXTRA LITTLE BONUS I WILL MAKE THIS A SMALL MULTI-CHAPTER FIC FOR YOU, SO PLEASE SHOOT ME A MESSAGE ABOUT PLOT IDEAS.**

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**Underwear : the JOY of Public Relations**

**By: inkImpressions**

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Marcus Flint was the blacklisted bad boy of the PR world. For those of you not in the know that means Public Relations. Any quidditch player worth their broom is a mover and shaker in the

PR world, they wine, dine, and woo the PR royalty. A fantabulous PR guru can make a player triple the yearly signing price, increase a fan base, launch a line, and make any personal life

the envy of the wizarding world. Needless to say a PR rep that can spin, spin, spin, has their choice of client.

Marcus Flint was a damn good quidditch player for the Devonshire Dragons—an independent team he helped get off the ground and into the national standings. In LESS than three flippin

years mind you, from zero, nada , nothing; not that he is conceited or anything. His looks had changed since his Hogwarts days. He wasn't a poster perfect pretty boy like his semi-best

mate Malfoy—a frequent centerfold for Witch's Allure Magazine—but he fell somewhere in the rugged, handsome category. He contributed to society in numerous ways, paid his taxes like a

good wizard. He went to the horrifically boring Ministry functions. Started some really fabulous charities, donated and worked with over 27 different charities (not his own) at this current

moment—Alitta, his poor, fossilized secretary really needed a vacation. He even gave to that organization: SPUGGLY, SPLATZ, SPAZZ, SPEW, SPLATTER,…, whatever. So why in the name of

Jack's frosty blizzard bottom was he blacklisted, marooned, waylaid, ostracized even from the world of PR?

Underwear.

Oh, yes Underwear.

Underwear, those things you wear under your robes because you've gotta.

Underwear, whitie tighties, silky hammocks, boxers, briefs, boxer-briefs—his personal favorite—bahama mommas, Lacy Lou Lou's, Frank-n-Bean Keepers, Jamma Bammas, bikinis, dental

floss, long johns, pantaloons, tamale wrappers, knickers….

Shall I honestly continue?

Marcus Flint had a reputation for underwear issues. Such an infamous reputation, that even the Death Eater Spin Healer extraordinaire: Payne Hitchzwax wouldn't owl him from the same

continent. It amazed Marcus that people could forget about you being a prejudice buttworm but couldn't overlook a few nethersodes, honestly.

Truly, would the best time to zoom behind and live stream a quidditch player be after he unsaddles himself from a cylindrical stick? I don't care what your rock' in under those robes, how

could anyone not have an Order of Merlin First Class wedgie? Also, how is it his fault, when the Minister's snotty, spoiled little brat of a nephew entered the locker rooms, during an

unauthorized time of course? He didn't see why he needed to foot a therapy bill for the rat, everyone knows a bikini is not going to successfully wrangle the anaconda. Truly, the family

should be paying him for the spiffy shot of partial front bottoms the kid got. And of course these would only be the _Unmentionable_ stories of the week.

Marcus was certainly in a quandary, he needed the best. He needed the PR Princess. He really needed to wizard up, because He needed Granger.

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**A/N: not that much but hopefully you were able to enjoy. This will not be a long fic. I hope you stay tuned, and I would LOVE, LOVE, LOVE if you reviewed. Thanks-a-mil **

**inkImpressions**


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